Gryffindor on the Cusp of Slytherin
by picascribit
Summary: A Gryffindor girl learns the hard way why Slytherin boys are better left alone, especially ones called Tom Riddle. You will never look at canon the same way again. (1942-1943)


If you were to ask each of the Hogwarts Houses what it means to be a Gryffindor, you'd probably end up with four different answers. Gryffindors themselves will harp on proudly about bravery in the face of the odds and great feats of heroism. Ravenclaws might even agree with them, going so far as to point out several places in their history books where great historical Gryffindors have Saved the Day. The more naturally-cautious Hufflepuffs will probably tell you that Gryffindors have a tendency to dive into dangerous situations headfirst, and stick their noses into things that don't concern them. "Curiosity killed the cat," they might even add. And Slytherins? Well, everyone knows what they think: that Gryffindors are all hot air and arrogance, and that one usually has to be dead to be proclaimed a hero.

Who do I think is right? They all are, in a way. Some Gryffindors are more one than the others, and for some of us, it depends upon the day of the week, or which way the wind is blowing. One thing upon which all the Houses can most likely agree is that, if someone is doing something for shock value, nine times out of ten, that person is a Gryffindor.

When I was Sorted to the red and gold six years ago, the Hat said a number of things to me that I don't care to repeat here, but I will tell you that it was quiet for a long time when I put it on, and when it made its final judgment, its cry of "Gryffindor!" was tinged with a reluctance which only I seemed to notice. I'm not really sure why it put me there, when you come right down to it, except that McLaggens traditionally inhabit that House, and I am a McLaggen, regardless of who my mother was.

So which kind of Gryffindor am I? That's easy; I'm a shock-value Gryffindor. And for my next trick, I'll be bagging myself a Slytherin.

It almost never happens, you know. The rivalry between the Houses tends to crush any romantic notions in its path. Multiply that by ten when you're on the Quidditch team like I am. But there's nothing I enjoy so much as a really good look of openmouthed disbelief. Besides, the one I have my eye on is quite a dish. Dark hair, dark eyes, clever, popular, and tall as I am, though he's a year or two younger. Well, that just makes it all the more shocking, doesn't it? Good.

I know it's forward of me to be doing the asking, but that's part of the fun. Even better, I get to ask him in front of Walburga Black. She's a Slytherin in my year, and I know she's had her eye on him too, but she's sour-faced as a hag, and not meant for something as tasty as he is.

"Tom," I say, biting my lip as though I'm nervous to be asking, which I'm not. "It's Hogsmeade next weekend. Do you fancy stepping out with me?"

He gives me a long, appraising look from my eyes to my toes and back again. I know what he sees. I'm too tall for a girl, and skinny as a stick, lacking all the womanly curves boys usually like so much, and that's not to mention the specs. But I do have rather pleasing sleek, black hair, and enough of the right kind of reputation for most boys to think they might be in with a chance.

A slow smile curves the corners of his mouth. "All right," he says. "Could be fun."

So I have an engagement with Tom Riddle for next weekend.

* * *

Tom is different from other boys. More of a mystery. He's a challenge, but I'm never sure what kind. It's as if he's made of secrets. Other boys I've been out with - and there have been a few, in spite of the specs and knobby knees - have been all hands and hopeful compliments. Not Tom. I can't tell if he's really interested or not, and that intrigues me.

He likes to talk about people. Not that he's a gossip, but he speculates. He seems to love nothing more than watching people and trying to determine what motivates them and why, like he's an observer of humanity without taking part.

We're in Hogsmeade, sipping butterbeer on the grass beside the Three Broomsticks, enjoying an unseasonably pleasant October day, and he wants to talk about Dumbledore, of all things. Professor Dumbledore is our Transfiguration master, and the head of my House. Tom is asking me questions like I should know the man better than he does.

"I don't know," I say for the third time. "I hardly see him outside of meals and lessons, same as you. Why do you care so much, anyway?"

Tom shrugs and casts me a disarming smile. Something inside me goes a bit wobbly. "I just hoped you might be able to tell me something new," he says. "I mean, almost all the Slytherins are on friendly terms with old Sluggy. I thought you could give me the inside scoop on Dumbledore. He doesn't like me."

My brows draw together. "Doesn't he? Are you sure, Tom?" I've never heard of him being less than cordial to a student before.

Tom grins in a way that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, there's a lot you don't know about me, Lina," he says with a wink. "I have a dark and shady past."

"You?" I laugh. "You're not old enough to have any kind of past at all!"

He raises an eyebrow. "I've always been a bit advanced for my years."

And suddenly he's kissing me. I'm so surprised I almost pull away. My heart is pounding and my mind is racing. Why is he doing this? Something tells me he's less interested in the kiss than in finding out what will happen. All right, then. I'll show him.

I lean in, parting my lips against his, and he responds in kind. We stay like that for a moment, until a disgusted _tcha!_ severs us.

We look up to see an elderly witch with a crup on a lead gazing down her nose at us in disapproval.

"You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves," she says primly. Her eyes fix on my knee where my robes have ridden up to expose the tops of my stockings. "That is no way for a proper young lady to behave."

I give her icy look for icy look. "Then go tell that to a proper young lady, you old hag."

With a shocked intake of breath, the woman turns and walks away quickly.

"Lina!" says Tom, sounding impressed. "I think I'm in love."

He's not, of course, but part of me wonders if he ever could be, or if I'd want him to be. He's pretty. Nice enough for kissing. But he's so -

"Cold," I mutter.

"What?"

"I'm cold," I say. "Let's go back to the castle."

* * *

That's not the last time I step out with Tom Riddle. He may be a bit odd, but he's also intelligent, which is appealing, and, as I probably mentioned, not too bad in the looks and kissing departments. Also, I like a challenge, and he is definitely that. I think I'll play the older woman, and see if I can't bend this young Slytherin to my will.

One thing I learn about him in the weeks following our first kiss is that Tom loves Hogwarts. Really loves it. It seems like he knows everything there is to know about its history, and anything he doesn't know, he'll spend every waking moment in the library, or exploring dusty, forgotten corridors, until he figures it out. Sometimes, he'll invite me along on these expeditions, as he calls them.

Today, I find him in the library, absorbed in a weighty tome filled with especially small print, oblivious to the first snows of winter falling past the windows.

"What are you looking for now?" I ask, leaning over his shoulder to see.

He slams the book shut and looks up at me, calculating. "Let's go for a walk."

I have to step quickly to keep up with him as he takes this turn and that, at last coming to a halt in a long-disused corridor.

"Tom!" I giggle, try ing to catch my breath. "You know you don't have to go to this much trouble just to kiss me. I'm perfectly happy to do it in the library. Let them stare."

But he's looking around, up and down the corridor and out the high, narrow window and through an age-dark door and behind a dusty tapestry of two bearded wizards with crossed staffs.

"What are you doing, Tom?" I ask, puzzled.

"_Shhh!_" he hisses.

At last, satisfied that there is no one within earshot, he leans in to whisper in my ear.

"Do you know the legend of the Chamber of Secrets?"

I think for a moment. It does sound familiar, but I can't place it.

"I've been looking for it for ages," Tom continues breathlessly, rocking back on his heels. "It's a legend from the time of the Founders. You know, Godric Gryffindor and that lot."

I nod.

"The legend says that just before old Salazar Slytherin left the school for good, he built a secret chamber. You know how he believed in the purity of Wizarding blood, and the others were all about that 'equal rights for Mudbloods' nonsense?"

He's testing me. Most Gryffindors are all for bringing Muggleborns and half-bloods into the Wizarding world, but I come from an old pure-blood family, and I understand that magic is best left to those who are born and raised to it. Those with Muggle connections only endanger our world, threatening us with exposure. Again, I nod.

"Right," he says. "Well, in his secret chamber, Slytherin put a monster of some sort that would live pretty much forever, and could only be controlled by him and his heirs. And when he left, he vowed that one day his heir would return to open the chamber and use the monster to wipe out all the Mudbloods at the school."

"What kind of monster is it supposed to be?" I ask, intrigued.

Tom shrugs. "No one knows. But I want to find out. I'm going to find the Chamber of Secrets and try to open it, and you're going to help me."

"All right," I say.

There is thought forming in the back of my mind, but he cuts it off with a swift, fierce kiss. He is excited, but not by me; he's excited about this mysterious Chamber of Salazar Slytherin's. But it doesn't matter. The end result is the same.

I break the kiss and give him an enticing look. "We can start searching later," I tell him. "Besides, I think better on my back."

The look he gives me is one I cannot interpret. "I know a place."

* * *

That night, I lie in the darkness of my curtained bed, recalling a most enjoyable afternoon spent with Tom in one of Hogwarts' many guest rooms (usually locked, but there are ways around that). I am still trying to decide whether or not it was his first time. He seemed interested in the proceedings, but I've known more experienced boys who were far more nervous than Tom appeared. He wasn't an expert lover, by any means, but he knew what went where, which, at almost sixteen, is as much as can be expected.

Lingering upon the memory is pleasant, but Tom's words earlier in the afternoon are still nagging at the back of my mind. A monster, he said, which can only be controlled by Slytherin and his heirs. That bears consideration.

My father, Jovis McLaggen, comes from a long line of Gryffindors, and is very proud of that fact. He sent me to Hogwarts with a red and gold scarf before I was even Sorted, and when I made Chaser on the House Quidditch team, he bought me the finest racing broom money could buy - a Cleansweep Three - and came to see me in my first match.

I never knew my mother. She died not long after I was born. As a child, I asked my father about her. He told me she came from an old Wizarding family which had fallen on hard times. When I asked if he missed her, he looked sad and said that it was an arrangement of convenience, which her father had asked for, and he hadn't known her for very long.

I was too young then to understand what that meant - "an arrangement of convenience" - but when I asked again not so many years ago, he told me that my mother had become infatuated with a Muggle, much to the horror of her family, and her father had quickly arranged a marriage for her with the first pure-blood man who would have her.

"'Slytherin's blood will never mix with a filthy Muggle's,' her father told me."

"Was she really Slytherin's blood?" I asked.

My father had smiled at that. "I really couldn't say, Lina. But she certainly believed she was."

If my mother was Slytherin's blood, then so am I, and if I can find this Chamber of Secrets, I can prove it. For shock value, that would certainly trump a Gryffindor bedding a Slytherin.

With a smile, I turn over and close my eyes, drifting into dreams of stunned onlookers who watch, openmouthed, as I ride Slytherin's monster out of the Chamber of Secrets. And in my dreams no one is more shocked than the unflappable Tom Riddle. I don't think I'll tell him I'm Slytherin's heir, though. Not yet.

* * *

After the first time, Tom takes every opportunity he can to find us the privacy for another quick go-around. But the pleasure he gets from our trysting feels wrong somehow. It's not passion or desire or even garden variety teenage lust. He seemed to take an odd satisfaction in having me every chance he gets.

Sometimes, I think it might be exciting to get caught, but so far, we have barely kissed where anyone could see us, so I'm puzzled when Professor Dumbledore calls me into his office.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

"Sit down, Miss McLaggen." The Transfiguration master looks unusually grave.

I sit.

"Miss McLaggen," he says, steepling his fingers. "It has come to my attention that you and Mr Riddle have - ah - formed an attachment, shall we say?"

I see no reason to deny it. I nod.

He sighs, stroking his auburn beard and choosing his next words carefully. "Please understand that I do not, as a rule, interfere in the personal associations of my students without good cause. However, in this case, I must insist that you do not pursue your relationship with Mr Riddle any further."

"Why, Sir?" I ask curiously.

He purses his lips. "It is a matter of some delicacy. I would not ask it of you if it were not important, Miss McLaggen."

"All right," I lie, eyes large and innocent behind my specs. "I'll break it off with Tom. How long could it last, anyway? A Gryffindor and a Slytherin?"

Of course, I go straight to Tom and tell him what Dumbledore said.

"It's odd that he wouldn't want me seeing you, isn't it? Usually, he's all about uniting the Houses, and how we should all be friends."

Tom shrugs. "I told you he doesn't like me."

"What do you think we should do?" I ask. "Can he really stop us seeing one another?"

"Do you want to stop seeing me?" Tom's eyes are dark and unfathomable.

"Of course I don't."

"Good. I have no intention of abiding by Dumbledore's injunction. We'll just have to maintain our distance in public."

I reluctantly agree, but in reality the thrill of shocking people by kissing a Slytherin in public pales in comparison to the thought of sneaking illicit sex, and perhaps getting caught in the act.

* * *

Once we begin our search for the Chamber of Secrets in earnest, Tom seems at least as excited about that as he is about getting me alone. He has a methodical mind, drawing up sketches of the castle and explaining the patterns of Hogwarts' moving floor plan. His knowledge of the castle itself is as profound as his understanding of its history.

Tom has been searching off and on since he learned of the Chamber's existence in his second year, but to no avail. Many areas of the castle, he has already scrutinised. He is experienced in measuring the thickness of walls and floors and the distances along corridors, looking for discrepancies and places where secret spaces might be concealed. He teaches me to do the same.

We divide up the castle into areas of accessibility: places we may venture with impunity, places only a Slytherin or a Gryffindor may visit, places only a boy or a girl may go. Some areas are off limits to either of us, and we will have to create opportunities to search them. In the meantime, there are plenty of areas within the castle and grounds where access is not an issue.

The Chamber must be well-concealed, Tom reasons, but it should be marked in some way. Old Slytherin meant for his heir to find and recognise it, after all. Tom believes, and I agree, that we can safely rule out those parts of the school traditionally occupied by the other three Houses of Hogwarts. Why would Slytherin have concealed his Chamber in Gryffindor's tower, for example? But the school is a big place, and even working together, we spend months in fruitless searching.

It's almost by accident when I find something early in the spring.

I'm not feeling quite myself today, and I've ducked out of Arithmancy to visit the girls' toilets and splash a little cool water on my face. When I open the door, my ears are assailed by the sound of angry sobs. I groan. Myrtle Jorkins. She's always crying and she's always in here. What an appalling bore.

Ignoring her wails of distress, I go to the sink and turn on the tap, but nothing comes out. I always forget this is the sink that doesn't work. Why doesn't someone fix it?

I go to the next sink and turn on the cold water, splashing some onto my face. Turning my head to glare nearsightedly at the useless, offending tap, I freeze, water dripping from the end of my nose. There, faint but unmistakable, is a tiny serpent, scratched into the side of the tap.

It can't be. This wasn't a loo in Slytherin's day. There were no taps.

Experimentally, I twist the knob on the broken tap again. It turns easily, but nothing happens.

I bend my head down into the sink and peer up the tap. "Open Sesame!" I say, feeling rather foolish.

"What are you doing?" says a thick, sniffly voice close behind me.

I jump, banging my forehead on the metal tap, and spin around, cursing in a most unladylike fashion. Jorkins is staring at me suspiciously.

"Nothing," I snap, embarrassed and slightly dizzy. "Don't you know it's not nice to sneak up on people?"

She peers at me through her thick specs. "Are you all right?" she asks. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," I say, pushing rudely past her. I'll come back for another look at the tap later.

* * *

By the time I get a chance to tell Tom about my discovery, I'm feeling better.

"But I don't think it can be anything to do with the Chamber," I finish. "The plumbing's modern, isn't it?"

He rubs his mouth thoughtfully. "You're probably right. I'll go have a look later, just to be sure."

"It's in the girls' toilets, Tom!" I exclaim, scandalised.

He grins. It's not often he's able to shock me. "We haven't done it there yet, have we?"

"No," I agree, half amused. "Not yet."

"Fancy a walk?" That's become our code for finding a little privacy.

"Not right now," I tell him. My head is still throbbing from where I banged it on the tap. "I'm a little tired. I think I'll lie down for a bit before supper."

* * *

It's the longest Tom and I have gone without having sex since we started. In almost a week since my discovery in the toilets, I've barely seen him. To complicate matters, I've made a second discovery I need to tell him about, and he's probably not going to like this one.

Passing him in a corridor on my way to Potions, I lay a hand on his arm. "What's going on, Tom?"

He smiles and leans in to murmur, "You'll see."

"Can I have a word?" I ask, but he's already walking away.

* * *

Two days later, he's right; I do see. And, as it turns out, I see a lot more than I want to.

I'm loitering outside the hospital wing, debating with myself whether or not to go in and talk to Madam Zeller, the matron, when I hear a commotion on the steps behind me. Without thinking, I duck behind the heavy oak door to hide.

Coming up the steps are Headmaster Dippet, Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Merrythought, the elderly Defence Against the Dark Arts mistress. Floating in front of them is a body. My stomach turns over and I feel faint. The girl - a Hufflepuff I know by sight, but not by name - wears an expression of rigid surprise, and her limbs stick out stiffly at odd angles. The three professors, grim-faced, guide their burden into the hospital wing.

Standing as close to the door as I dare without being seen, I hear Madam Zeller's cry of shock.

"Oh, Galatea! What's happened?"

"She's not dead, Claudia," Professor Merrythought informs her grimly, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "I believe she has been petrified. It may be possible to restore her."

"But how did it happen?" the matron cries.

"We do not know." Dumbledore's voice is soothing. "Please, try to calm yourself, Claudia. I believe the girl is in no immediate danger."

"I must send word to her parents. Miss Bones is a member of my House," says Professor Merrythought stiffly, and hurries off. I duck back behind the door just in time.

Inside the hospital wing, the matron is fussing over the petrified girl, trying to pull the blankets up over her awkwardly-bent limbs. The headmaster and Dumbledore are speaking together in low voices. They are close enough to the entrance that I can hear every word.

"Did I see what I thought I saw, Albus?" Headmaster Dippet wheezes. "My eyesight is not as good as it once was."

"Do you mean the writing on the wall above Miss Bones?" Dumbledore replies grimly.

"Tell me what it said, Albus; there's a good lad."

Dumbledore sighs. "It said, '_Slytherin's Heir Returns Triumphant. The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened_'."

"But what can it mean, Albus?" asks the headmaster.

"I don't know, Armando," says Dumbledore. "But I mean to find out."

They may not know what it means, but I certainly do. There's only one other person besides me who's been searching for the Chamber of Secrets for months now, and I'm willing to bet that my finding the little serpent in the girls' toilets last week is no coincidence.

It has to be Tom who's opened the Chamber. But how can that be? I'm the one who has Slytherin's blood. Tom was raised in a Muggle orphanage, if the rumours are true. Slytherin's heir can't be spawned from Muggles. It's not possible. But there's one way to find out, and with Dumbledore busy, it shouldn't be hard to manage it.

The room containing the Hogwarts Book is next to Dumbledore's office. The Book is very large and very old, and it lies open to a half-filled page on an old oak pedestal with a quill poised over its age-foxed parchment. Whenever a magical child is born in Britain, the quill inscribes a new line, noting the child's name, the date of its birth, the names of the parents, and, if the parents were magical as well, page number references to locate their own entries in the Book.

I carefully turn the pages back eighteen years to the date of my own birth. There I am: _Marvolina McLaggen, 4 October 1925, born to Jovis McLaggen and Merope Eurydice Gaunt._ My father's ancestry might be interesting to explore one day, but right now, it's my mother's family I need to know about. I flip back further still to her own birth in 1908 to Marvolo Gaunt, my grandfather and namesake, and his wife, Maud Gaunt, and then back again to find Marvolo's father and grandfather. The Gaunt line ends abruptly in the early sixteenth century with Matthias of Ghent emigrated from the Netherlands. His ancestors, of course, are not included in the Book. Frustrated, I turn back and try another branch.

It takes over an hour, but at last I locate my connection to Salazar Slytherin in the Peverell line. The entry is only a few pages from the start of the Book, and the ink is faded with age. In 1005 AD, Alys Peverell bore a son to Salazar Slytherin - the beginning of my line. Reverently, I touch the names of my remote ancestors.

That proves it. Now, all I need is to check Tom's line. I flip back to my own birth, and then a couple of pages past it. Tom is two years younger than I am, and was born on New Year's Eve. Yes, there he is. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Marvolo? But -

And that is when I make my third discovery. I stare in horror at the page before me, where the words are printed, clear and undeniable against the pale parchment: _Tom Marvolo Riddle, 31 December 1927, born to Tom Riddle and Merope Eurydice Gaunt._

No. It can't be true. My mother died. Tom can't possibly be my _brother_. Sick horror overwhelms me, and I cling to the pedestal, feeling like I might faint or vomit. I clamp my mouth shut tight to keep from screaming.

What am I going to do? I have to tell him. I have to tell him everything. At least then I will have someone with whom to share my distress.

I shakily turn the pages of the Book forwards to the half-finished one, hiding the evidence of the most shocking thing I've ever done. I've lost my taste for inspiring stunned looks. All I want to do now is hide.

* * *

I find Tom leaning against the bannister of the great staircase, watching a stream of subdued and whispering students enter the Great Hall for supper, an extremely smug look on his face. In my agitation, I almost forgot about the petrified Hufflepuff in the hospital wing.

"Tom, I need to talk to you. Now."

"All right," he shrugs.

I walk past him up the stairs to the second floor, and turn in to empty classroom, not looking to see if he follows me. He does. I shut the door, drawing my wand to lock it behind us.

"Lina," he says with a smirk, "I know it's been a few days, but I had no idea you missed me so much."

I slap him hard across the face. The smirk vanishes.

"You - you - !" I am almost too angry to speak. "You opened the Chamber, didn't you? Without telling me? And that girl -!"

"Well, it was mine to open, wasn't it?" he replies coolly. "I'm Slytherin's heir, as it turns out."

I bite back my first reply. It's going to be as much of a shock to him as it was to me. I have to do this right. Taking a deep breath, I lay a conciliatory hand on his arm.

"That's not actually what I wanted to talk to you about," I say, trying for calm. "I'm sorry. I was upset. Tom - I'm pregnant."

His face is unreadable for a moment, and then a slow smile spreads across it. This time, it reaches his eyes.

"Really?" he says. "How wonderful! On the day that I've shown myself to be Slytherin's true heir, the line of succession is secured. An excellent omen. Our son will have the secret of Slytherin's Chamber after me."

I realise that my mouth is hanging open in shock, and close it. I can't believe he's actually about this. He won't be when I tell him the rest of it.

"Tom," I say slowly, choosing my words as carefully as I know how. "Let's sit down."

"If you like."

Sitting opposite one another at two classroom desks, I reach to take his hands, and then draw back. He's my _brother_. Another wave of nausea assaults me.

"I'm not having this baby," I tell him. "I can't."

"Why not?" He looks no more than puzzled. The smile does not waver.

"I found something out today." The words are incredibly hard to say. "I found out your mother's name. It's the same as my mother's. I'm your sister, Tom. Your half-sister. I can't have this baby."

He sighs. "I had hoped you wouldn't find out so soon."

I stare at him, uncomprehending. "You knew? Is that why we haven't been - ? But you just said you were _pleased_ that - Tom, what in Merlin's name are you playing at?"

He shrugs. "I've known you were my sister for a few years. When I learned your name was Marvolina, I decided to check, because it's so close to my middle name. When you invited me to Hogsmeade with you, it was too good an opportunity to pass up."

The tide of onrushing horror is threatening to sweep me away. He's known that I was his sister all along. All the things we did - I can barely suppress a shudder of revulsion.

"I'm not having this baby," I say again, more firmly than ever.

His expression turns dark, and I notice a red cast to his eyes that I've somehow missed before. "Enough of this nonsense, Lina," he says sternly. "That's my heir you're talking about, and the heir of Salazar Slytherin himself after me. He'll be great, and he'll have Slytherin's blood on both sides."

That makes _my_ blood boil. How dare he presume to tell me what to do?

"You call yourself Slytherin's heir?" I hiss, rising from my seat. "Your mother was married to my father when she ran off with that Muggle. You're a bastard and a half-blood, and you're two years younger than I am. So who's Slytherin's heir now? Tell me that, Tom Riddle!"

I raise my hand to strike him again, but he grabs my wrist, twisting my arm painfully.

"You will not lay hands on me, woman," he says coldly. "No foolish female can be the heir of Salazar Slytherin. And you will not address me by that Muggle's name. My mother named me Tom Marvolo Riddle, but I've taken a new name for myself out of it. From this day forward, _I am Lord Voldemort_!"

I might have laughed at such a pretentious declaration under almost any other circumstances, but the look in his eyes is terrifying, and his grip is hurting my wrist.

"Let go, Tom," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "You're scaring me."

He lets go, and turns to leave.

"Don't test me, Lina," he says when he reaches the door. "You've seen what I can do to those who vex me. Think about it. I'll give you three days to come to me."

* * *

What can I do? Two days have passed. Another student has been found petrified, and the school is in a state of panic. I know who is behind it. I could tell them. But then what? To tell them would be to implicate myself. I sought out the Chamber. I found the entrance. I told Tom where to look. I have Slytherin's blood. Who would believe my word - the word of the Gryffindor showoff - against that of popular, clever, good-looking Tom Riddle? Apart from that, there's whatever Tom would do to me, and what he almost certainly will do if I fail to bear his child.

I don't have to tell what I know. What are the Muggleborns of this school to me, weighed against my own life and safety? If I do hand the child over to him, he might let me go my own way. Or he might consider me a liability, and kill me. I believe he is capable of it. Even if he decides not to, he will stain my name with incest when he declares our child to be Slytherin's blood on both sides.

Perhaps not. Who's to know we're not merely cousins? It's not as if anyone knows who our mother was. Except -

Dumbledore. Dumbledore knows. That's why he didn't want me seeing Tom. Why didn't he tell me? I was so sure he just didn't like Tom.

But he _doesn't_ like Tom, I realise. Dumbledore is one of the very few who seem to be immune to his charm. Could he help me? He's a powerful wizard, and most people agree that he's a wise man. He should be more than a match for Tom Riddle.

I can't tell Dumbledore what I know about the Chamber, or about my being of Slytherin's blood. I am Slytherin's heir, no matter what Tom may think, and I want whatever power and privilege comes with that title. It's mine by right, and if I have to bring down my brother to claim that right, then so be it. I will have to find a way to make Dumbledore my ally and Tom's enemy, and make him swear never to reveal to anyone that he knows I am Tom's sister.

* * *

"You wished to speak with me, Miss McLaggen?" Professor Dumbledore gives me a searching look over the tops of his half-moon specs. "Do you perhaps have information regarding the recent occurrences?"

"No, Sir," I say, as meekly as I can manage. "I - I have a problem, and I need help."

"Any student may tell me anything, child," he says kindly. "What is troubling you?"

"I - oh, Professor!" I cry in tones of well-feigned despair. "I'm pregnant!"

"Ah. Is it, perhaps - ?" he inquires delicately.

"Tom's," I say miserably, burying my face in my hands so that he cannot judge my expression too closely. I rub my eyes hard, trying to make them look red with weeping.

"Hmmm," he says. "Oh, dear."

I look up, biting my lip. "I know, Professor. I know why you didn't want me seeing him. I found out. But it was too late," I wail. "I was already - oh, what am I going to do?"

"Does Mr Riddle know?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"About this?" I ask, waving a hand over my belly. "Or that we're - ?"

"Either."

"Both," I whisper with false reluctance.

The Transfiguration master frowns. "And what did he have to say about it?"

I don't have to fake a look of disgust. "He seemed happy about it. All of it. He scared me. And - " here's the part where I pull out all the stops, and I am pleased to feel real tears spring to my eyes - "and he hurt me when I said I didn't want to have it, and that what we had done was wrong! I'm so scared, Sir. Please, I think he might do something awful if I can't get away from him."

Dumbledore sighs. "I feared that might be his reaction. Do not worry, Miss McLaggen. I can shield you from him. You can be hidden until the child is born, and I can keep it safe from him after that."

My look of shocked disbelief is real. "You can't expect me to have this child!"

He sighs, looking suddenly old and tired. "Miss McLaggen, I understand these are difficult circumstances, and of course the ultimate decision is yours alone, but I urge you to consider carefully. There is so little magic left in the world. I cannot recommend the snuffing out of a potential magical life, even in such an extreme case. In the meantime, I can protect you. You need not fear him, whatever you decide."

Slowly, I nod. "How long can you keep me hidden, Sir? I think Tom might really be dangerous. Especially to me, after this."

Dumbledore must be able to read something in my eyes, because he asks, "Do you have something in mind, Miss McLaggen?"

"I just thought, it might not be safe for me to be Marvolina McLaggen anymore. I could - be someone else. It could be like Tom never had a sister."

"You are speaking of abandoning yourself - of giving up your identity. Are you really so afraid of him, child?"

"Yes, Professor," I whisper, lowering my eyes, and I think he believes me. "But Sir, you'd have to promise never to tell anyone who I really am. I think you might be the only one who knows that Tom and I are - " I break off with a calculated shudder.

He is looking at me very seriously. "I will do so, if it is what you want, and if you will give me your word, Miss McLaggen, that you will at least consider allowing your child to be born. I will find a safe place for it, and one for you, and no one will ever know your secret from me."

"Do you swear, Professor?" I ask, all trusting guilelessness.

"I do swear it, Marvolina," he says solemnly.

* * *

I'm going. I won't say where. Tom doesn't know. He'll be so angry when he finds out. Maybe he'll kill some Mudbloods. What do I care? I'll be safe. I might even have this baby, just to spite him. The thought of knowing the child is out there in the world, and Tom can't touch it, feels like a victory. Tom was right about one thing; Slytherin must have an heir. I'll give the baby to Dumbledore when it's born. Merlin knows I don't want to raise such a creature. But someday maybe I'll ask where it is.

In the meantime, I must hide, and I must stay away until Marvolina McLaggen is forgotten by almost everyone who knew her.

One day, I will emerge like a butterfly from a chrysalis, a new creature with a new name. I've chosen the name already; taken it from my old one, as he did, to taunt him. I should be able to make my way in the Wizarding world, even if no one has ever heard of Minerva McGonagall. I'll miss my N.E.W.T.s, but my marks have always been good, and if I ever need work, I'll come to Dumbledore.

After all, the power is here, at Hogwarts. The Chamber is here, and Slytherin's monster, too. Perhaps I can bide my time as a teacher, moulding the minds of the young. One day, I will meet my brother again, face to face, and if I ally myself with Dumbledore for now, when that day comes, I will be in a position to strike Tom Riddle down. Then all the power and influence due to the heir of Salazar Slytherin will be mine.

And now, Marvolina McLaggen bids you _adieu_ forevermore.


End file.
